Am I Late? - poem by Caroline Tiss

Am I late?

I enjoy you,

I enjoy the waves which beckon me,

I call them as they call to me, like you call to me.

Late to the party too often lately,

You tell me I have always been intoxicating,

Perhaps consuming much like the swarming,

It is a subtle fear, tears bellow.

And you go on like the overture of a cello.

I stop you to say, "we feel like lovers."

I know that it's not really worth it to leap from anything deeper I have learned what I had to believe me,

But we feel like lovers,

And I know that it's selfish,

I know I am headed straight for the pit, let them eat my bones to carry on the tune,

You bright eyed alchemist, your magnificence echos to me in the chambers of memories of songs.

We feel like Lovers.

How can I hold back?

What is pride if not my honor?

The paint will fade anyway but give me a golden chance

I just know that I would break it.

Comments

Grace by Caroline Tiss

Grace I remember grace, Like the wind at my back, nightly, She is the serendipity, She is the cure, I allow the silence to wash over me without resistance, Never have I touched the first snow's powder, But like Grace the winter returns, The snow is as white as a pale lily, It makes me want to gaze in awe at the night, The serenity is that of a cathedral, Snowflakes fall upon my eyelids and frost the world with a silver sheen. Grace is like the snow.

Venusian Myths - Caroline Tiss

Venusian Myths Beauty is not true, Beauty is not definable, To be aware of symmetry and color is all that you need, You can bejewel the night sky as Nyx has done, and the sight is astonishing, As long as the sun and moon shall endure in perfect peace and harmony, So shall the world reflect the sentiments of tranquility, Beauty is in the wild unknown.

Magdalene’s Lover by Caroline Tiss

Magdalene’s Lover Magdalene’s Lover Did he love his woman well? Mary Magdalene weeping at the sinners well, Was she a woman or the archetype of a heathen’s love spell? Tender is the heart of a woman, Soft to the touch is her skin like satin, Cinnamon and Sugar Sensations, Tangerines and Summer hazes Hearts Beating Like waves of summer rain against a tin roof “Would you lie to me?” She asks you, with love in her eyes As she lies next to you in your bed and the rain pours ceaselessly, And you look to her, Her eyes so sweet you could get high off the sensation, the aroma of her perfume lingers like a sweet starry haven And you tell her “Never would I lie to you, my love.” Will men ever know the height and depth of a woman’s love To love a man is a fragile, volatile thing, Filled with all the fire of mars, and the current of the waters rapids. When real love comes knocking with her chalice of wine, Wou...

Caroline Tiss Writes

Search This Blog